


Sigh No More

by ReaperWriter



Series: Mansion House Nocturnes [9]
Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fear, Illness, Not a joke in the 19th century, Pining, Shakespeare, declarations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:40:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperWriter/pseuds/ReaperWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn’t come as the surprise it does, when Mary takes ill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sigh No More

**Author's Note:**

> I can't recall who actually asked for this prompt. I actually wrote it last week, maybe? Then I lost it in Dropbox Heck. And found it. And no my muse is like, "Hey, that original novel you always wanted? I'm ready now!" Argh. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy some sick/comfort, angst, and a little ILY there at the end.

It shouldn’t come as the surprise it does, when Mary takes ill.  After all, Jed has watched her work herself to the bone.  Long hours with little to no good sleep. Eating the minimum of food that more of it might go to the men.  Exposed to every man who comes in with injuries, infections, and who knew what else.  Hell, the surprise should be that she hadn’t taken sick before now.  Perhaps she just seemed impervious to such things.   

So it was a real and terrifying thing when Mary, looking more tired than he could remember and seeming lethargic, suddenly passed out in the middle of assisting him on an amputation.  He had dropped the scalpel and moved the speed, padding her fall so she missed hitting her head on edge of the surgical table. His hand, pressed against her forehead, registered a high fever.  “Help!” 

In minutes, the room was swarming with Samuel Diggs and Anne Hastings.  Orders were relayed to find Hale or Summers and have them take over as he lifted Mary in his arms and carried her up to his own room.  In minutes, two of the sisters had joined them, shooing him out for a moment as they got her out of her dress and stays, leaving her in her camisole and knickers.  Jed came back in quickly once they had done so. 

Mary lay pale against the linens on his bed, her forehead dewed with sweat.  A cough rattled her chest and she whimpered with it in her delirium.  He looked up to find Summers at the door.  “What happened?” 

“She’s ill.  Influenza, I think.”  Jed turned, brushing Mary’s hair back from her face.  “High fever, and her chest sounds congested.” 

“Damn woman, why didn’t she say anything?”  Summer sounds both irritated and fond.  “And you’re exposed now.  Damnation.  Right, Captain, it looks like you’ll need to play Nurse.  Hale and I will hold down the fort.” 

And with that, he turned and was gone.  Jed looked at Mary’s face, and felt more than a little fear. She looked…smaller, somehow, without the armor of women’s gowns and accoutrements.  Weaker, in this state.  Mortal.  He couldn’t recall a time he had ever felt this fear about Eliza.  Then again, the worst Eliza had ever been ill was with the occasional sick headache. 

Stepping to the door, he found one of the sisters stationed outside, and sent her for supplies- cold water, willow bark tea for the fever, and the makings of a mustard plaster for Mary’s chest.  Then he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. 

The hours passed slowly as Mary slipped in and out of consciousness beside him.  Her chest still rattled with cough, though the plaster seemed to help a little.  Still, when she was conscious, she didn’t seem lucid.  More than once, as he mopped her brow, she murmured another man’s name.  “Gustav?” 

“Shh, Mary, just rest.  I’m here.”  It reminded him of that terrible moment, during the President’s visit, as Mary had held the hand of that dying shirker and pretended, as a kindness, to be his wife.  He prayed to God- him, of all people! - that this would not end in the same result. 

When she quieted, drifting into the deeper unconsciousness of sleep, he could not help but stroke her hair softly.  She was so strong, Mary Phinney, but his urge to protect her was fierce and strong.  And inappropriate, he knew.  Despite a continent separating them, Eliza was still, in the eyes of the law and of God, his wife.  Until death, he supposed, did them part.  He might have given his heart, his very soul to another, but he could give Mary nothing else.  And despite their little moments, the thousand tiny kindnesses, a million glances and smiles, Mary had never given him true and firm cause to hope.  Proper and above reproach, his Baroness.   

He took to reading softly to her from a ragged and worn copy of Shakespeare’s comedies, the only book in his room not about medicine.  He had always been fond of the foibles of humanity as laid out by that poet.  “’I do love nothing,” he recited quietly, “in the world so well as you.’  Is that not truly strange, Mary?  Look at where we started.  But old Bill had the right of it.  I do love nothing in the world so well as you.” 

He glanced down to find Mary’s eyes open and looking at him, the feverish glaze he had seen gone.   Tired but clear, and smiling softly.  “Jed.” 

“Mary.”  His voice was hoarse all of a sudden.  “Do you wish water?  Or broth?  I’ll have the sister get broth.” 

“Tarry, sweet Jed.”  Her own voice was ragged, but so fond.  Her hand reached out, cupping his face gently.  “For you have stayed me in a happy hour.” 

His breath caught.  In this midnight hour, alone, he could only think to be dreaming.  “I’ve been too forward, haven’t I, Mary?” 

“Life is short, Jed.  We know that better than anyone.”  She let her hand fall.  “I know what must be, but I also have to have hope.  All obstacles yield in time.” 

But such an obstacle.  “Still, I shouldn’t speak more to it while it lies in the way.” 

“Then don’t.” Mary gave a soft yawn, clearly still weak and tired.  “Just know that when we do find our way past that obstacle, I’ll welcome what you have to say.” 

Unable to help himself, Jed leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to Mary’s forehead, grateful to find it feeling cool.  “Then serve God, love me, and mend.”   

With that, her eyes drifted shut, and she slipped back to sleep.  Jed set his book aside, taking her hand in his, and leaning his head back against the wall behind his chair.  She was out of any immediate danger, and there’d be work enough to be done on the morrow.


End file.
